Pig Gets The Chop
When I was around 12 years old back in the mid eighties I lived in a back of beyond Welsh valley town where one day my dad took me to visit my Uncle Jack who had a small holding.
Jack had this big fucking pig that resembled in size a Shetland pony and it was so tame it acted like a dog. Unfortunately for the pig Jack wasn’t interested in a mans best friend relationship, and the pigs card was marked for being the main attraction at Sunday dinner.
Having enlisted my father’s help Jack started playing with the pig who laid down allowing jack to scratch and pat the doomed porker who know doubt thought what a wonderful life it had and happily snorted in pleasure with its eyes closed.
At the given sign from Jack, my dad deftly jumped on the pig holding it down shouting to me to join him as the pig started to get wise to the situation.
It was at this time things started to go a bit wrong when Jack revealed his chosen implement of death, having no doubt agonised for hours at the quickest way to dispatch the pig the stupid bastard pulled out a junior hacksaw and gamely started having a go at the pigs big bulbous leathery neck.
To be fair, before the pig threw me and my dad off Jack had made progress, the down side being that this was at the expense of around 30 odd seconds in which the pig was no doubt in pure agony.
Anyway, having bucked me and my dad off it started chasing jack around the paddock. Bad news for the pig was that Jack had obviously got his jugular on the way and the paddock descended into a surreal scene akin to the part in Clint Eastwoods High Plains Drifter, where he had the town’s people paint the town red.
After about five minutes the pig gave a final lurch in Jacks direction and gave up the ghost leaving behind him a sea of blood that had not only turned the ground muck red, but also made pretty artistic patterns due to arterial spray.
Jack was groaning where the pig had bitten him on the leg and my dad was calling him a tosser for not using something more appropriate. I just stood there traumatised by it all but perked up when my dad bribed me on the way home into saying nothing to my mam buy buying me an ice cream.
Anyway in a bizarre twist of fate Jack died last year of cancer, funnily enough he coughed up his lungs and choked on his own blood, much like the pig.
You got to laugh at the irony.
(If it could happen to me like that i'd shit my pants, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 13:39, Reply)